


Long Nights and Acolytes

by Dusty_Forgotten (DustyForgotten)



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyForgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten





	Long Nights and Acolytes

The ash sticks to his boots, still sticky from the sewer, and he shakes the blood from his hand. Redigh spies a home, incense in the lantern, and raps the door with his cane. It leaves a bloody streak, and he unfastens his cape to clear it away.

“Oh my, what a queer scent…” she starts from within, as Redigh wipes his weapon, “but I’d take it over the stench of blood and beasts any day.”

The hunter glances down at his own sewer-splashed garb, and wonders if all the Yharnamites aren’t half-beast by now; they have a bloodhound’s sense of smell. That, or it really is that strong, and the insides of his nostrils are caked in blood. He pulls down his facemask, breathes deep. Smells the incense first, before the filth and copper: a good sign.

“What is it, then? I’m off during hunts, so if that’s what you’re here for, I’ll leave you to your own devices. If that doesn’t do it, come back in the morning, darling.”

He’s taken aback by the endearment, having only been met with “good hunter” in varying stages of sarcasm thus far into the night. Redigh takes stock of his surroundings— spots a few half-feral townsfolk down the way— and tosses the bloodied cloak over one shoulder, leans on the cane as he replies, “Madam, I only mean to ask if there’s anything I could do for you.”

Concern for others is a habit he’d picked up since his arrival in Central Yharnam, curiosity about the red lanterns— it seems so obvious a thing, but, when in Yharnam… He’d found a friend in Gilbert, as well. Poor, wonderful, unfortunate Gilbert.

“You’re a hunter, right?” She sounds hopeful.

“Indeed.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Might you know of a safe place? The night is long, and I’ve very little of the incense left.” Right she is; he feels he’s been here a week already. Though, how much he dreamt up between his own repeated deaths and the Hunter’s Dream, only gods know. “Please? There must be someplace nice to run off to…”

Yharnamites have such strange mannerism. “Oedon Chapel. Don’t mind the Dweller.” He sent a rather snide woman there hours ago, and she’d resided unsupervised with the creature, unharmed. He’d trust it over Iosefka, anyway; her sharp change in demeanor made him wary of her sanity— and humanity.

“Oh, thank you, darling. Maybe I’ll see you there!”

Fastening his cloak, Redigh responds, “I do find myself there unusually often.” His head snaps around at the sound of a splash, a half-beast traversing a puddle. The hunter flicks his cane into its whip form, and bids a “Farewell, madam” before pulling the mask over his mouth.

The hunt is on.


End file.
